Darkness Unmasked (Dark Angels 5)

“What the fuck,” I said, as we reappeared in the secure surrounds of my bedroom, “has she become?”

“I cannot say.” He turned around, but didn’t immediately release my hand. “I suspect the only people who would know are the two people you’ve already noted.”

Stanford and Uncle Quinn. I rubbed my free hand across my eyes wearily. “What the hell are we going to do, Azriel? Stanford is right about one thing—whatever she is, she’s not sane.”

“Actually, I would suggest the opposite. However, she is a being without emotion, someone whose soul lost contact with all that is humanity a very long time ago. She is incapable now of seeing beyond her own needs, desires, and plans.”

I frowned. “You can’t say she’s without feeling given she had us chasing the Jorõgumo for revenge.”

“That did not come from either the heart or the soul, but rather a far darker place. Someone took something of hers, and she could not let the matter slip unchallenged.”

“So if I ever did?”

His smile was somewhat wry. “You challenge her every time you speak to her.”

I grimaced. “I meant seriously challenged. As in, agree to work with Stanford.”

“Then you’d better hope I am still around to defend you.”

Fear swirled through me. I knew I wasn’t any sort of match for Hunter, even with Amaya at my back, but still, hearing Azriel basically confirm it was as scary as hell.

“Well, it’s not actually something I’m planning, however much I’d like to see the bitch dead.”

“Which is the first sensible statement you’ve made for quite a while.”

“I am capable of sensible on occasion.” I rose up on my toes and quickly kissed him. “I’m going for a shower. If you want to be useful, you could make me something to eat.”

His eyebrows rose. “I am not adept at human domestic duties.”

“Now, that,” I said, voice wry, “is a comment echoed by men the world over. All you need to do is slap some of the lamb that’s in the fridge between a couple slices of bread, squeeze on some tomato sauce, and I’ll be one happy lady.”

“That I can manage.” He raised my hand, kissed my fingertips, then disappeared.

I checked my phone to see if Ilianna—or anyone else for that matter—had called, then headed into the shower. By the time I’d dried my hair, dressed in comfortable jeans and an old sweater, Azriel had set the dining room table with not only a sandwich, but a glass of Coke and a steaming mug of coffee.

“You know,” I said, as he pulled out a chair and seated me. “You might just become a keeper if you carry on like this.”

He didn’t immediately answer, but when he did, his voice was oddly formal. “And would you wish that, if the situation were different?”

I paused, the sandwich halfway to my mouth, and met his gaze. “If the situation were different, if we weren’t who we were, and the option was there, yes, I would like that very much.”

He nodded, and it oddly felt as if an agreement had been reached. I frowned, wondering what exactly that might have been, but his expression—or lack thereof—very much suggested he wasn’t about to elaborate.

“Because there is nothing to elaborate,” he said softly. “What happens next lies in the hand of the fates.”

I swallowed against a suddenly dry throat and tried to ignore the tiny slivers of both hope and fear that began coursing through me. “Meaning there could be some way we could explore this thing further?”

While that possibility scared the hell out of me, I couldn’t help the leap of excitement at the thought of being able to explore whether what was between us had the strength to blossom into something real and permanent.

But all he said was, “That is for the fates to decide.”

“Then the answer is probably no, because fate and I have not been on friendly terms of late.”

He didn’t reply, and there was little to be read in his expression. I bit into my sandwich and had to bite back a groan of sheer pleasure. Besides sex and a cold glass of Coke, the best thing in life had to be a fabulous lamb sandwich.

My phone rang just as I finished my meal. The tone told me it was Jak, and my heart began to beat a whole lot faster. Something was wrong. I was certain of it even before I answered the damn thing. I pushed up from the table and ran across to my handbag, fishing around for several seconds before I found my phone.

“Jak,” I said, my heart seeming to beat somewhere high in my throat. “What’s up?”